


The Meeting

by 8ami



Series: Garrett & Cal [1]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys Kissing, F/M, Garrett calls everyone by their last name until he doesn't, Garrett's POV, Honestly it's more like Universe Alteration, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Neither Garrett or Cal make the best decision but they're teenagers and alcohol, POV First Person, Post book/movie, Self-Acceptance, Sexuality Crisis, Underage Drinking, boys cuddling, pansexual Garrett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15227454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ami/pseuds/8ami
Summary: Bram drags Garrett to the Oliver cast party to celebrate with Simon on his work of the play. And really Garrett isn't surprised his friend has disappeared with his boyfriend, but Garrett is surprised that he's trying to be a fly on the wall rather than enjoy the party as he has with parties in the past. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he's a little drunk and having an internal crisis. He's not sure if he blames Bram or Cal, but maybe it's not so bad.





	The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I'm so taken with the idea of these two together, but I am, so here's this.
> 
> Also, I made a reference to 'Done Alright Up Until Now' by mccolfer because that story is so, so magnificent and I totally suggest you read it and then read it again. 
> 
> No beta.  
> Minor Edits 2/1/2019

**Friday, April 28th**  

“So this is a cast party,” I say to myself, bringing up a red solo cup to my lips. To be honest, the cast party the theater kids have put on - at _Taylor Metternich’s_ house of all places - wasn’t all that different from the parties I’ve thrown before. It’s not as loud but there’s just as much booze and kissing. It’s not different, really, but it’s a totally different vibe. That’s probably why for the first time in my life, I’m standing along the wall at a party instead of being in the middle of it.

It’s just...well, it’s just that this party isn’t for me. I don’t know anything about plays and theater. I mean, yeah, I totally enjoyed the play, but I’m just part of the audience. And that title hasn’t left even now that Bram has dragged to the cast party so that he can celebrate with his boyfriend. I’m just part of the audience. So, I sip at the spiked drink in my hands, lean against an open wall, and enjoy the view.

Bram says I’m more observant than I give on, whatever that means, but Bram is really smart so he’s probably right. It’s just, it seems obvious - the way that senior girl is staring daggers at a dancing couple is certainly jealousy, the way the couple on the couch is making out is more slow and caring than just some drunken meet up but there’s a desperation there so I’d bet they just got together, like maybe even tonight at this party, the way Metternich is still speaking like she’s center stage and the fact that there seem to be more pictures of her brother than her around the house speaks to a need of attention, of validation and I guess she’s really not all that bad, and the way Martin cases the room before entering means he’s totally avoiding someone. Spier is a good bet, but I’m thinking it’s Bram because while my friend is not an aggressive guy there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d stand up for the people he cares about and if that means putting the fear of God into someone then so be it. Martin deserves a little fear in his life, anyways, for what he did to Spier. It's just that all of that seems like anyone could see if they looked around. So I’m not sold on Bram’s theory, but Bram has higher grades than me in every subject but science.

And yet, despite this apparent quality I have, I nearly drop my cup when I finally notice Calvin Price is leaning against the wall beside me. Price is looking at me with a soft smile and, damn, I didn’t really think people’s eyes could look like an ocean; thought it was just some shit they put in romance books, but Price’s eyes are damn oceans pools.

“How long have you been there?” I ask sharper than I mean to.

Price only chuckles though so either he doesn’t pick up on my tone or he’s ignoring it, “Not very long. This really isn’t your scene huh?”

“What do you mean?” I know what he means. Price shrugs, turning his head so that he can look over the crowd of partygoers, lips pressed together. Okay, so he knows I know what he means too. “No, not really.”

“Why are you here then?” And I’m surprised the blond boy can make that statement sound completely made of curiosity. Usually, when I hear that sentence it’s more accusing and threatening. My dad wanting to know why I came into his office - if you don’t have your report card, then why are you here? My history teaching after getting tired of me talking - why are you here in my classroom when you aren’t even listening? I definitely prefer how Price says it.

“Bram dragged me here and then immediately ditched me for Spier. I’m like ninety percent sure he did it to get back at me for doing similar things to him in the past.” I explain coming to the realization as the words leave my mouth. Fuck, that’s probably exactly what he did. I’m totally not letting this go.

Price laughs soft and a little slurred with a drawl and alcohol. It’s a pretty nice laugh, I admit.

Okay, so it might be a surprise to some people that I’m thinking such things about a boy. I’m a little surprised too, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About Bram and Spier. About how happy they are and how Nick doesn’t think he could be that happy if he was a guy and how I think I could. I mean if I was as happy with someone as Bram is with Spier then who cares if they’re a guy or girl or whatever, right? Right.

The point is, I’ve been thinking and I realize I’m probably not completely straight. I haven’t told anyone, I’m still working on telling myself, of allowing myself to think such things - I’m not getting into it, won't let my head go down that road right now, but there’s a lot of hurdles there and I play soccer not run track.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be letting myself have so many thoughts on just how cute Price is if I was completely sober. But Price is cute and pretty and - oh, damn he’s talking. I can’t recall anything he’s said and now he’s looking at me like I’m supposed to respond. Which makes sense. That’s how conversations work after all. But I don’t know what I’m responding to.

“Uh...what have you been saying? I might not have been listening as I’m having an identity crisis in my head at the moment…and I should probably stop drinking for the night.”

Price just raises an eyebrow, disappearing slightly under a curtain of bangs, and gently takes my cup from my hands. I kinda want him to take my hand instead of the cup, but I also kinda want to throw up so there’s that.

To Price’s credit, he repeats himself rather than ask about my freak out which is good cause that would probably just freak me out more. “I asked if Bram made you go to the play as well as to this party and if you did did you enjoyed it?”

“Oh yes!” I nearly shout causing a few of the other people at the party turn towards the sound, but whatever, I don’t mind people looking at me. “Yeah, Bram made me go see the play three times. It would have been four times except I was watching my nieces one day and I’m not taking small humans into a performance. It’s like taking a baby to a movie. Shit should get you jail time.” I’m very serious about this. I love my nieces and my sister for that matter; they're the best part of my family without of doubt. But my nieces can't sit through an hour-long production without talking. Bram might say I can't either, but at least I can be quiet about it.

“As stage manager, I thank you for that.” Price is smiling like sweet candy, but he’s agreeing with me so I focus on that instead. “Children who can’t remember being there, shouldn’t be there.”

“Exactly!” I exclaim and just a little quieter because I know I’m being loud again - see my nieces wouldn't have picked up on that, “but I did enjoy the play. It was very funny and the jokes didn’t get old even after watching them three times. You and everyone else did really nice work.”

Price’s cheeks are already a little flushed from drinking, so it’s only when he ducks his head that I realize he’s a little embarrassed at the compliment. Well, that just won’t do. Compliments are meant to be enjoyed not embarrassed by.

I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, he looks up almost immediately. “Seriously, man you did great - I don’t exactly know what a stage manager does but I know what being a manager means and if being a stage manager with that lot is anything like that then it was definitely a task. You did that. You did great.”

“Thank you, Garrett.” Price genuinely looks pleased, or at least I think so for having talked to him for all of thirty minutes. I count it as a win. He doesn’t look away from me, even bites his lip, and I might have forgotten I’m touching him, that we aren’t really that far apart, that we’re at a party.

Suddenly, that all comes back to me at once. I jump back, my hand hurting with make-believe pains. I’m totally fine, but the situation is dangerous in a way I haven't experience quite yet. If Price had been a girl, there's no doubt, I would have tried to lean in to kiss her.

It’s quiet for just long enough for me to figure out how the whole breathing thing works again.

“So, identity crisis?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I admit looking at the shoes of the dancers.

“Garrett.” And I don’t want to look up, but then there’s a soft hand under my chin guiding my head back up and Price is right fucking there. “Can I kiss you?”

I’m blinking slowly at the question, letting it really work itself into my brain while Price just stands there, fingers along my chin and jaw, waiting for me to make a decision. It doesn't seem so dangerous now and well, here’s the deal - I’m not freaking out about hearing that question like I thought I would be. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe I know while we’re at a party, we’re practically alone or maybe I’m more accepting of myself than I thought I was. It's probably the alcohol.

Yes is on the tip of my tongue. And Price swallows it down.

His lips are soft like his hands and mine are permanently chapped, but he’s the one in control of this kiss. I’m surprised how much I like that - to not be in charge, to give him the reigns. It kinda feels like I’m swimming instead of drowning all of a sudden and god does that feel good. I part my lips and he’s quick to explore my mouth with his tongue and damn I did not just moan, did I? I step closer to him not wanting him to leave this, leave me. I grab at his jacket, holding on, while his hands slide into my hair, encouraged by the sounds I’m making and my own hands.

When we break apart, it’s just because we remember we need air in our lungs, but we certainly don’t leave each others’ personal space. I want to lean in and kiss him again so I do just that, this one more simple, more chaste - a novelty really because it's not like I'll get another chance. I’m smiling when I pull away and he laughs like he just can’t contain the joy. What the hell was I so afraid of? I can't remember.

“Well, that was certainly more than I was bargaining for.” He says and it pulls me away from my thought about how I can still taste him on my lips.

“Uh...sorry?” I know he’s joking but that doesn’t come across in my tone and okay, maybe I am a little worried that went further than he wanted it to. I let my hands drop from his jacket and make to step back, but he reaches out and grabs my hands keeping me from moving too far. And that worry follows the fear out of my head, out of my hands.

“Don’t be.” I’m counting heartbeats - I do it sometime when I’m at soccer practice - until he drops my hands. “So, how’s that identity crisis going?”

And I think that’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all night, and I laugh until it starts to sound wet with heavier emotions as that fear and worry and fuck, fuck, fuck rushes back through my toes where I'm not expecting it because that's not where it left. I end up having to look anywhere but at Price. No one is even giving us a second glance, all caught up in their own lives. They all seem so far away, but Price is right there watching me. I can feel him watching me, probably trying to read me. I force myself to look at him because I swear I’m not a coward, but then I see his blue-green eyes and realize I’m in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight and being able to swim doesn’t help as much I thought it would. I really am a coward.

I’m not exactly sure how, but I end up resting my forehead on Price’s shoulder, hiding from it all. I’m not crying, but I kinda feel like I should be as my chest heaves. Price isn’t saying anything but he’s brought one hand up to the back of my head, scratching at my scalp in reassurance and I decide I really enjoy having his hands in my hair no matter the reason. Which really doesn’t help me right now.

“What’s wrong with him?” And is that Spier? It can’t be though, because he’s off with my best friend.

“Too much to drink, I think.” Price responds. I can feel the vibrations of him speaking.

“Oh, okay well, then he probably shouldn’t come to WoHo with us since you know we're like underage, like right? I’m the most drunk out everyone else. Bram and Abby have only had a few and Nick is like completely sober as usual.” And that’s definitely Spier, reasoning out loud, a little giddier than not, and too many uses of the word ‘like’.

And I’m a little insulted because he certainly sounds drunker than I am as a lot of his words slide into the next ones, but I guess him thinking I’m out right drunk is better than knowing what really is happening. Besides I don’t really want to be a fifth wheel at Waffle House until they go over to Leah's like they planned where I'm still single and Leah is just putting up with me. I like her, I do - I use to like her a lot, but it's pretty clear she's not into me. Which sucks and it makes it weird for me.

I think Price gives me time to respond myself or maybe I’m just not good at keeping track of time, but there seems to be a long moment of silence around me before Price tells Spier that I probably shouldn’t go. He goes on to say that he’s staying the night there at Metternich’s - except he actually says Taylor - and he’ll keep an eye on me if they want to swing by after Waffle House to give me a ride home. I don’t hear Spier’s response, because I can’t hear anything over my own breathing. My friends are leaving. I’m staying with Price. Price who I just kissed, who's definitely a guy, who has his hand in my hair, who is letting me freak out on his shoulder.

Someone pats me on the back and I’m pretty sure it’s Spier, but I don’t look to confirm it. A few minutes later, Price puts his hands on the sides of my face, lifting it up so that I’m looking at him. His hands are cold but I’m flushed and feeling hot so it’s really nice. I wonder if he usually has cold hands.

“Hey.” He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach most of his face.

“Hey.”

“Come on.”

It doesn’t cross my mind not to follow him. He leads me around the rest of the party goers, who despite Spier and the others leaving, seems to be going strong, and down one of the hallways until it’s just the two of us and the music is dull through the wall. He opens one of the doors Metternich has shut and I step into what looks like a spare bedroom cause there’s a bed but nothing personal about the room.

“It’s the guest room.” Price confirms as we sit down on the bed. He cocks his head at me, “how are you doing? Still breathing?”

I chuckle with wet relief, “Barely.”

“That’s okay.” And I believe him.

But I shouldn’t and now I’m going back and forth and suddenly the room is spinning and I have to lean back onto the bed, eyes shut, to keep from throwing up. I feel the bed dip beside me. I peek with one eye to see Price is on his side, propped up on his elbow, to look down at me. There’s a crease around his eyes that look like worry and I see him frown for the first time tonight.

I don’t know who it’s for - me or him, but I reach out and take his free hand. Our fingers interlace without any weight to the motion. When I get the courage and the calm to open both of my eyes again, Price is looking at our hands lying on the bed in between us.

“I don’t think I would be having such a crisis if you weren't so cute.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard myself be so quiet and I think he might not have heard me at first, but I can see that he’s pointedly not looking at me now instead of just enjoying the puzzling sight of our hands.

“Price?”

“You should call me Cal if you plan on having a crisis over me.”

I think I love how he uses his words cause I’m laughing again, rolling onto my side. This time it’s me who strings my free hand along his jaw. I lean forward to kiss him but stop a breath away. “Cal then.” And he kisses me with a smile on his lips. Neither one of us push to deepen the kiss and neither of us lets go of our hands. It ends up being a slow kiss and it’s good for a lot of reasons but mostly because it keeps me in this moment.

I don’t know how long we kiss like this, just slow with small pullbacks to give us air only to fall right back into, for but I realize it’s not any different kissing Cal than it is kissing anyone else I’ve kissed - girls, I mean girls, in fact, it’s kinda better in some ways. Except I don’t think it’s better because Cal’s a guy but because it’s Cal. And _fuck,_ I don’t need a crush or feeling by the transfer-association thing that Abby and Nick talk about sometimes on top of the rest of this shit.

I don’t need real feelings, I can’t handle those.

I let go of his hand to run that hand through his hair, pulling him closer, biting at his lip. Cal gasps at the sudden change of pace and I take the advantage to slip my tongue into his mouth. Cal must not have any protests because he’s pushing me onto my back, straddling my hips without breaking the kiss in a very smooth motion.

I’m pretty sure I’m trying to steal all the air from his lungs. Our tongues battle and wrap and he bites my lip in return when I suck on his. My hands never leave his hair and his don’t move from my chest. When he drops his hip down against mine, I gasp so much I break the kiss. In order to keep kissing me, he almost immediately starts to trail kisses along my jaw and then down my neck.

His hands pull mine from his hair, stretching them both above our heads as he finds a sensitive stretch of skin along my neck and, “Fuck, Cal.” I can feel him smile against my skin. “Fuck.” Again, it’s a totally new feeling to be on the following end of a make-out session instead of leading it, but it’s a really good feeling and I think Cal can tell I like it because it’s quite obvious with his hips over him.

I guess I’m talking, curses and his name and all sorts of nothings, because he lifts his head no doubt leaving at least one mark on my collar bone. “Is kissing you really the only way to keep you quiet?” I just grin and because I swear I can give as good as I get, I roll my hips up.

He’s not expecting it and he groans with lust, having to rest his forehead on my shoulder.

“Too many clothes,” I tell him and he's quick to sit up and pull his jacket off. I help him with his shirt, kissing up his stomach and chest as more skin is exposed. I wrap one around his waist, slipping my hand into his back pocket. My other hand is exploring his back, but he's the one that ends up digging his nails into my clothed shoulders when I kiss and suck at his nipples. I must be doing something right because he has to push me back so that he can collide our lips together again. He’s pulling my shirt up and we break the kiss only long enough for him to rid me of the damning piece of clothing.

We fall back onto the bed again, but this time our exposed skin press against each other and he has to just run colder than normal because his skin is cold against my heated skin. It feels great. He feels great. I'd tell him if he ever let my lips go again, not that I'm complaining.

Suddenly, Cal pulls back and I chase after him, only for him to push me down against the bed, hands on my chest. “Woah, okay...okay I need a break. We should take a break.” He’s breathing hard and I can only stare up at him. Slowly, he gets off my lap, even scoots back so that he's leaning against the pillows and headboard. And I realize he's probably right cause I'm hard and wanting and hot, but the world is also coming back into focus and there's no way that I could really continue this. Not without majorly freaking out and maybe even regretting this later.

I wonder if Cal knows that or if he's as worked up as I am. I can't tell when I lock eyes with him, but he's all blush and bliss and I think I don't care. He motions for me to come sit next to me. I do, sluggish and heavy in a good way as if I'm just now connecting back to the world. He sits a little higher up than me, allowing me to rest my head against his shoulder. Our hands interlace. I don't know who did that. My buzz from alcohol is long gone and my buzz from making out is settling low into my stomach.

“What are you feeling?” Cal asks and I think I've misheard at first because normally people ask what I'm thinking, what I'm doing - not what I'm _feeling._

“Horny,” I confess and he laughs, I can feel it in his chest as much as I hear it. Then once he’s quieted down and I really think about it, “scared, I guess.”

“Of what?”

And I'm not sure. A lot of things I guess.

“You're friends would accept whatever you choose to identify as.” He tells me reassuringly. I nod without raising my head. Of course, Bram and Simon and Nick and the rest would be cool with it. They might be surprised, but ultimately they'd get used to it, accept it. Probably easier than I do of myself. “Do you? Accept this?” Did I say that out loud or can Cal read my mind? Maybe he's as observant as Bram thinks I am.

“I'm getting there.” I confess, “I'm not sure what this is, what _I choose to identify as_ , but I'm getting used to the idea that it's okay I'm not straight.” I reuse his own words and I think he's smiling, but I don't know why I think that and I don't look up to confirm it.

“Would your parents?”

I'm quiet when I finally look at him. He matches my eyes. “Let's not talk about this. Please?”

I don't know what I look like, but he sees something there because he nods after looking down at my face. A quick kiss to my lips, so quick I barely register it but I register him squeezing my hand in his without a problem, “okay.”

Cal sinks down some leans against my shoulder and I rest my head on his. We’re quite long enough this time that we actually fall asleep.

Or at least I do. Until he's nudging me awake and dragging me back to reality. Cal isn't on the bed with me anymore and he has his shirt and jacket back on. I think that's unfair, more so when he hands me my own shirt. “Simon texted. They're on the way back to pick you up.” He tells me as I'm sitting up putting on my shirt out of reflex.

“Okay, okay, yeah.” I get to my feet and I think this should be awkward - we just made out, we fell asleep beside each other, I had a crisis - but mostly I just feel tired. Cal is watching me, though, and that's making me self-conscious so I do what I always do and open my mouth. “Kicking me out after we finish making out, huh?”

And okay I have no idea why I said that. I had been aiming for a joke, I'm even smiling but Cal only gives me a half smile. He walks over to me and hooks a finger into my shirt, looking down at his hand. “Figured you wanted to keep up appearances, staying the night here wouldn't really do that.” That's true, and it's not like Cal has given me any reason to think he's actually the type of guy to use someone for a good time. Besides dealing with me at the moment probably isn't that good of a good time even if what we did was enjoyable and something I'm probably going to be thinking about for a while. Cal looks up, catching my eyes, “If you want to stay I wouldn't complain.”

“I don’t want to explain why I'm not going with them. I wouldn't know what to say.” I admit quietly, unsure but positive staying is only going to get me in trouble and probably ruin this. Ruin me in more than one way.

Cal smiles like he understands like it's okay. I think his smile is infectious because I'm smiling in the next heartbeat. “If you really don't want your friends to ask questions,” - the finger he has hooked in my shirt pulls and I look down - “you probably shouldn't go out with your shirt inside out.”

“What?” He’s absolutely right. He laughs while I fix my shirt panicking a little bit about what questions I would have gotten if I hadn't fixed it.

“Garrett,” Cal says once it's fixed. “It's going to be okay. And if you want, you can text me about any freak outs you have while you figure out this identity crisis.”

“I believe that would require your number.”

“Do you want it?”

“Yes, please.” I give him my phone unlocked and he starts typing away. When he goes to hand it back to me, all smiles and warm, I lean in to kiss him. I pull away, kisses and phone.

We leave the bedroom and the party has certainly died down, people are sitting more, even sleeping and the total of people is less too. I can't help but wonder how long Bram and the others were at WoHo, how long I was with Cal.

Metternich steps out of the kitchen, she's scanning the crowd and I'm thinking she's gonna start telling people to take a hike, the party is over. But she just moves around, telling people that they can sleep there the night. One guy tried to say he was going home, but he slurred his words and couldn't stand, so Metternich took his keys right from his hands and pushes his chest with just her fingertips as if she didn't want to really touch him. He toppled back into the chair. She turns away from him with clear disgust on her face, saying something about holding one's liquor, spotting Cal and I heading to the front door.

“Cal - you better not be leaving me.” Somehow, she manages to stomp over to us gracefully. She eyes me up and down.

“Of course not. Simon and his friends are swinging back by to pick up Garrett is all.” She instantly opens her mouth but stops when she realize Cal isn't down speaking. I wonder if that's what being friends with Metternich is like, because Cal speaks slow, takes his time and she could have totally talked over him. “Nick should be driving and he's sober. I'll make sure that still stands.”

“Good. After that let's pick up some. I don't want to do it all tomorrow.”

“Yes, Taylor” And Cal’s pushing me towards the door and Metternich is still looking at me like I'm a blemish and its picture day. I don't waste time sticking around, just swing the door open and step out onto the porch.

Surprisingly my ride isn't here yet, but I don't mind when Cal takes a seat next to me on the bench. He's close enough that our knees can brush but far enough that it doesn't really look like anything out of the ordinary. We're silent but this time it's not so bad and I don't have any trouble breathing in the warm night air. It's almost the end of April now, almost the end of the school year. I wonder if the summer will help me figure things out or if the time is gonna let me burrow down into denial. I don't know which one I want more.

Nick honks his horn jerking me from my thoughts. Cal must have been watching me because he laughs at me. Simon is impatient enough that he's coming up the drive by the time we both stand up.

“Hey, thanks for keeping him in one piece, Cal.” And I don't think Simon will ever know how ironic that statement is. “Bram would have been miserable if anything happened to his best friend after leaving him here. It took some effort to get him to leave the first time.” I really do get what Bram sees in Simon - he’s nice, talkative in a good way, and a damn goof. I see it, but I still end up shaking my head at him more often than not, and he really can't hold his alcohol.

“It wasn't a problem at all. Taylor and I are always playing chaperon by the end of the night at these things.” Simon nods his understanding and waves me towards the car.

“Uh, yeah, thanks, Cal. I mean it.” I say pausing a few steps behind Simon.

“See you at school, Garrett.” He says instead of 'no problem' or 'you're welcome' and I think that's a good thing. It’s not dismissing, it’s not belittling. Actually, it kinda sounds like a promise.

I’m smiling when I slide into the back seat with Simon, Bram is there with Abby and Nick up front. Nick is, in fact, sober and driving with Abby playing with the radio. Bram reaches behind Simon to pat me on the shoulder. I think he might still be buzzed, but he also might not. That good, airy feeling doesn't leave him until he passes out whether the alcohol has left him or not. I think it's pretty funny to see Bram loose like this, but I’m glad he doesn’t act like this all the time. "Hey, you doing better?"

“Heya Bram, yeah, I'm good, dude - better.” I greet and then ask the rest how Waffle House was while Nick pulls away from the house. Abby and Simon launch into telling me a story that involves Simon, Nick, extra whip cream, a broken coffee cup, and a salt packet. I only half listen as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

I text 'hey' to the new number in my phone. We’re not even at the stoplight out of the neighborhood when I get a text back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking about making this into like a series, like snapshots along Garrett's journey of accepting himself, with his friends, and him and Cal getting together like with the next one being Garrett talking to Bram and maybe Cal again but sober. If I do that then the only major change from the movie/book is that Simon being outed and him and Bram getting together occurred in their sophomore year instead of their junior.


End file.
